More Than Magic (Books of the Kindling)

by Donna June Cooper

  Jamie and Pooka had just returned from a slow trek down the row of beehives and back, after leaving Nick behind because “the girls mightn’t like his smell” and because he obviously wasn’t bee-savvy, since he was unaware that the worker bees were girls. Apparently all was in good order for the snow storm because Jamie was quite cheerful about the state of the hives.

  Nick tried once more to focus the conversation. “Is a doctor-doctor a medical doctor?”

  “Uh huh—I mean, yes sir.”

  “So, why isn’t Dr. Grace taking care of people?”

  Jamie spun around at that, fists on hips. “She is taking care of people! She’s taking care of whole lots of people with her herbs and stuff! My mom says if Dr. Grace wants to heal people from the inside out, that’s her business.”

  “That makes sense.” And if friends and family and people in town were questioning her decision not to practice medicine, it would explain some of her skittishness.

  The youngster peered at him thoughtfully, then back toward the greenhouses they were approaching. Pooka forged ahead of them, sniffing everything that could be sniffed.

  “These are the greenhouses. Dr. Grace does a lot of wild-crafting and wild-sim-sim something—it’s growed in the woods—but we grow a lot in the greenhouses and gardens too.”

  “Wild-crafting?”

  “Picking the herbs from in the woods where they grow wild all by themselves. But we always re-seed. And we grow crops in the woods from scratch.” Jamie pointed to the wooden contraption covering an area of the garden. “And we’ve tried to make our own fake woods, but Dr. Grace says it ain’t the same.” Jamie gave him a pointed look, as if expecting the next question. “When she studies it in her laboratory. All of ’em are different.” She counted on her fingers. “The ones we grow under the fake shade, the ones we grow in the woods, and the ones the mountain grows.”

  “So which ones are better?” Nick asked as he looked into the greenhouse, noting the clear absence of illegal plants.

  “Oh, the ones the mountain grows for sure. Woodruff Mountain ginseng is the best in the world!” Jamie responded.

  Nick looked at the surrounding woods. “So where’s that grown? The ginseng?”

  “Only Dr. Grace knows where the best stuff is. It’s an official Woodruff secret. No one knows where the Woodruff ginseng bed is ’cept Dr. Grace and The Woodsman, afore he passed. Now it’s just Dr. Grace.” Jamie chopped one hand down on the other in a gesture of finality.

  “Why’s it so secret?” Nick was really curious now. He didn’t even know what ginseng was, other than something in energy drinks, but it might explain some other things—like the way Grace had acted in the woods. It sounded like she had taken on a lot of responsibility when her grandfather died.

  Jamie motioned him closer. “Because it’s worth a lot of money being as it’s really, honestly wild and really, honestly powerful stuff. A lot. And it takes time to grow to be worth that much. Lots and lots and lots of years.”

  “So, if it’s worth so much, isn’t she afraid someone will sneak into those woods and steal it?” He had obviously missed this bit of info in his research. Of course, who knew what “a lot” meant here?

  “Oh, sang poachers. They do that all the time. Even in the Park! I mean, The Park!” Both hands went into the air. “That’s like stealing from Uncle Sam. If they get caught—” The hands swept down and out. “Bam! In the slammer!”

  “But—?”

  “But, they still try. ’Cause the Woodruff stuff’s worth that much. They been trying for hundreds of years to find that bed. I mean, there ain’t much ginseng left in the wild no more, and most of that’s way up north. But the mountain ain’t gonna let ’em get to it. Not even those stupid—” Jamie suddenly turned a slight shade of pink and pointed to the shed with wood stacked all around it. “Now, that’s where we dry the herbs. That’s a hot job.”

  “But, about the gin—”

  Jamie struck a belligerent pose. “You’re awful curious about sang. Are you a poacher, Mr. Nick?”

  Nick blinked, then solemnly raised one hand, looking first at Jamie, then at Pooka, who also stared at him intently. “I don’t even know what sang is and wouldn’t know it if I stepped on it, or in it, or—whatever.”

  “Hmmm.” Jamie eyed him. “Well, I suspect so. You don’t seem very smart about natural stuff.”

  Nick would, at that moment, have to agree. He had the feeling that when he had driven up that road, he had crossed into a different world—more real and vibrant than the one he lived in.

  “But you need ta know something important.” Jamie motioned him closer and Nick hunkered down to listen. “The Woodsman—he showed me some old bones once, up on the ridge. They’d been there a long while. But he said they was someone who probably got lost lookin’ for his sang.” Jamie looked guilty. “It was when he caught me trying to find the bed. I was only wanting to prove I could, but…I got lost too. Even with my compass! And I’m good with my compass!”

  Nick could try to blame getting lost in the woods this morning on a plant screwing his navigation.

  “The Woodsman told me that his great-grandpap—he was part-Cherokee—told him that if you wanna find sang you have to follow what you’re afeard of. You have to follow the bear or the painter. Something that scares you. Otherwise, if you follow something nice n’ pretty—something that smells good—you’ll end up down a hole.”

  If that was the criteria, Nick was lucky he hadn’t fallen in a hole, after following Grace into the woods this morning.

  “I’m thinking the Woodruff bed’s so old that even if you follow your most fearfulness thing, you still wouldn’t find it. There’s so much ginseng up there. It’s like, well, magic,” Jamie ended on a whisper.

  That word again. Nick stood and looked around at the shadows creeping across the grounds, and the deepening darkness of the woods surrounding them. He was pretty sure why Grace had gone trekking through the woods alone this morning.

  “But, doesn’t that mean Dr. Grace has to tend the sang by herself?”

  “Yep.”

  “That seems like a lot of work.”

  “Well, we don’t sell a lot of that ginseng. The Woodsman really hated to dig any of it up, being that it’s better to let it get real old and all. But because some folks really need it, he did. And she did this year too. Carried the roots out all by herself. She’s the best, you know. But she misses him something fierce, Dr. Grace does. She don’t laugh like she used to or play with Pooka and me, but that’s okay when you’re sad. It’s like she’s worried all the time about something. I don’t think it’s money though, ’cause, if it was, she’d sell some more ginseng. It brings a lot of money, let me tell you,” Jamie was almost out of breath. It didn’t last. “The Woodsman harvested a root once that was more’n a hundred years old. There’re people who’d pay a lot of money for a root like that only to put it in a case and say they owned it, but he sold it for medicine.”

  When Nick sorted through the quicksilver flow of words, he couldn’t reconcile any of it to Grace Woodruff being the chemical mastermind behind powerful illegal narcotics on the streets of Atlanta. Especially if Grace had that kind of money in herbs she could easily, and legally, sell. Yet another puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

  Jamie looked around. “Well, you seen the chickens and the lab and the greenhouses and the garden. You wanna see the goats or the honey house next?”

  “I’m sure the goats are great—” The look on Jamie’s face made him revise his comment. “And I want to take a look at them at some point, but I really want to see those ciphers of yours. I’m in mood for puzzle-solving.”

  “And soul cakes!”

  “Those too. Assuming they’re not burnt.”

  Jamie laughed.

  Grace slid the pan of cookies into the oven and set the timer, careful to keep the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder.

  “I know. I am really so very sorry. I’ve just— I’ve been dealing with my
grandfather’s estate and his business and—” I knew this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have called you at all. “I’m usually not so disorganized.”

  “No, I understand. Dr. Fleming told us you left the program, but that was all he knew and, well, I finally gave up calling, but Tink was pretty persistent. I’m so glad you called.” Tink’s mom sounded so much more relaxed than the last time Grace had seen her. And frazzled. Hopefully that was a good sign. “She’ll want to talk to you!”

  “How is she?” Grace held her breath. She just needed to know that it was real. That it lasted. That it wasn’t her imagination or some strange coincidence or—

  “Perfect. Absolutely perfect! Didn’t Dr. Fleming tell you?”

  Grace let out a big sigh. She hadn’t realized how much she had needed to hear that. Tink was fine. Tink was apparently better than fine. Grace closed her eyes.

  “Dr. Woodruff?”

  “I’m so glad to hear that. I’m so glad the chemo worked,” Grace responded. “So there’s no sign—”

  “Absolutely cancer free. Complete remission. All the markers are gone. Zero. Nothing. I can’t tell you how…” There was the sound of a swallowed sob. “We’re so thankful.”

  “The Center does great work. I’m sure you—”

  “It was amazing how quickly she improved. Like a miracle.”

  “They work really hard for those miracles,” Grace said firmly, and started transferring cooling cookies to a platter.

  “Yes, they do.”

  “And Tink did a lot of the work herself. I saw that you took her to see the real Tinker Bell. Thank you for the photo.” Grace hoped the conversation would head in a different direction.

  “Oh! I’m so glad you got it. We just sent it to the hospital. I told Tink it would get to you.”

  “Yes. It’s on my refrigerator door. She looks wonderful. I love all that hair.”

  “It grew back in so fast. It was unreal. It was all so— You know, she insisted it was you, Dr. Woodruff. You and your magic fairy dust.”

  Grace’s heart rose into her throat. Dammit. Well, you knew this was coming. “Me and what?”

  There was a nervous laugh on the other end of the line. “Magic fairy dust. After you fainted that day in her room—we were so worried about you, by the way—but we got so caught up in her recovery—”

  “I was fine. I just got overextended. I am really sorry I worried you and Tink.”

  “Well, she insisted that you had sprinkled the cancer with fairy dust and that was why she got better so fast. She would not stop talking about you and wanting to find you and visit your mountain. She was obsessed with it.”

  Grace tried to calm herself. “Really? How odd. Well, I suppose I timed my passing out perfectly!” she said with forced cheer.

  “Yes. Well, I mean no, of course not.”

  “I’m just glad she’s doing so well, no matter how she thinks it happened,” Grace said. “I hope she isn’t still talking about—”

  “Oh no. There was a while when we thought she was going to drive us all crazy insisting that she needed to meet your mountain and stay with you forever. She kept a bag packed. There were a lot of temper tantrums and tears.”

  That’s not good. “I am so sorry.”

  “No, no! No need to be sorry. We were all emotional and things were a bit crazy around here. It just got her all stirred up. She had herself convinced.”

  “Bless your heart. Has she stopped—”

  “Oh yes, thank goodness. About a month after you—after you left. She calmed down and got interested in school and her friends, and her new puppy.”

  Hallelujah. “A puppy! I bet she loves that.”

  “Well. I don’t know how you’ll feel about this, but— She named the dog Grace.”

  Grace chuckled. “Oh, great. I hope it’s a girl dog at least.”

  “Oh yes! I’m so glad you don’t mind. It’s an Irish Setter. Tink insisted she wanted a red-haired dog. And her father couldn’t deny her what she wanted. We came so close to—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bring up bad memories. I just wanted to check on Tink. I think about her all the time.” More than you will ever know.

  “Oh no. I’m thrilled that you called. Tink will want to talk to you.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? I don’t want to stir up any obsession about me again.”

  “Oh, she’ll make my life miserable if she finds out I talked to you. I can’t not tell her.”

  “I’d probably spoil her rotten myself, if I were you.”

  “Yes, we are spoiling her. Let me call her.” There was some commotion on the other end of the phone.

  “Dr. Grace? Dr. Grace!” Tink’s voice was strong and clear.

  “Yes, Your Fabulous Fairyness. It’s me, your loyal subject!” Grace swallowed back tears.

  “Oh Dr. Grace! Did you see? I have hair now, and a puppy, and I went and saw the real honest-to-goodness Tinker Bell.” Tink sounded as if she was plugged the same energy source as Jamie.

  “Yes, I did, sweetie. You have beautiful hair.”

  “And my puppy. She’s beautiful like you!”

  Well, there were worse things than being compared to a red-haired dog. “I’m sure that she is.”

  “I named her Grace, after you.”

  “Thank you dear, that’s quite an honor!”

  “So, are you better now? Momma said you were sick.”

  Good for momma. “Yes, much better. I’m sorry it was so hard for you to find me.”

  “Oh, I knew where you were,” Tink whispered. “I’ve always known.”

  As sweet as Tink was, those words sent a chill down Grace’s spine. As if the Tink from her dreams was talking to her.

  “You were hiding up on your mountain.”

  “Hiding? I wasn’t hiding, sweetie—”

  “It’s okay. I know. I didn’t at first. I wanted to be with you and your mountain all the time, because you made me feel so good. But I know now.”

  Grace couldn’t seem to breathe. “What do you know, sweetie?”

  “I can’t feel like that all the time. It’s not the right way for things to be.”

  “But you feel good now. Your mom said—”

  “I don’t mean that. The old black nasty stuff’s gone away forever. I mean, I can’t feel like I’m full of gold sparklies and magic fairy dust all the time.”

  Oh. “No, I suppose you can’t. There’s a limited supply of magic fairy dust and it really only works on old black nasty stuff. You don’t have any more of that, so you don’t need it.” Wherever it comes from.

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Dr. Grace?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t hide anymore, okay?”

  If only it were that easy. “I won’t hide from you sweetheart. I promise.”

  “Sometime I’m gonna come meet your mountain, but later.” There was a loud clunk. “Mommy!” Grace held the phone away from her ear. Tink’s mother picked it back up.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t hear all of it. I hope she didn’t bother you too much.”

  “Not at all,” Grace said. “She’s great. Better than great, actually. Thank you so much for letting me talk to her, and for understanding.”

  “Like I said, we’re so thankful to all of you for what you did for her. I’m just glad she got to thank you herself.”

  “I am, too. She does seem to have gotten over the whole magic fairy dust thing.”

  “Yes, thank goodness. Anyway, I have to run. She’s— Isabella get that dog out of those—” The line went dead.

  Grace took a shaky breath and tried to relax. Then she smelled something burning.

  “Oh no!”

  Grabbing an oven mitt she pulled the very well done cookies out of the oven. Fortunately it was nothing a good dollop of icing wouldn’t cure.

  “Everything all right in here? Jamie sent me to see if you burnt the soul cakes, a
s expected.”

  Damn the man, he seemed to have an absolute talent at catching her off guard.

  Grace set the pan on the cooling rack and faced him, dodging Pooka who had wandered in to check out the baked goods as well. “Not quite. I was on the phone with a customer and forgot about them for a second. Pooka! Out!”

  Nick leaned against the doorframe, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. If she hadn’t seen him this morning, she would’ve thought the man was a picture of health, except for the way his clothes fit, or didn’t quite fit.

  “Seriously? You have a product called ‘magic fairy dust’?” he asked.

  Grace’s skin betrayed her, turning so pale that the smattering of light freckles on her nose became far more visible, like a lie detector for redheads.

  She spun away to fuss over the soul cakes, but Nick had seen enough.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but a name like that caught my attention.”

  “It’s a—a funny nickname one of my customer’s daughters gave to something we sell. Just a joke really.” Her voice sounded thin and fragile, like glass that could shatter at any moment.

  “Sounds like something I’d like to try.”

  “We don’t sell it anymore,” she said.

  “Well, maybe you should. You know: profit, loss, return on investment, and so on.”

  She straightened with what looked like a large ginger-colored cookie decorated with a white star in her hand, which she set carefully on a tray that was already half full of them. Her expression almost made him regret needling her like this, but after what he had learned in the sunroom, he had nearly all the pieces to this puzzle. He just needed her to provide him with the rest.

  “I appreciate the advice.” She went back to carefully piping icing onto another cookie.